The Story of Majed
by Bookwrm17
Summary: (The Story of Zahra by Hanan al-Shaykh) After Zahra leaves Africa for good, life for Majed goes on. And yet it doesn't.


**The Story of Majed**

The first night after Zahra left I came home relieved to be rid of her. I had the house all to myself again. It was as if the demon which had haunted it had been banished. The house was quiet. There was no wailing or manic laughter, but silence and emptiness. I had been afraid that even with Zahra gone for good there would be some ghost of her presence, but there was not. As I lay in bed that night, I thought of our wedding night. I should have known then that she was insane, with her damnable secret that she had no hope of keeping and her changing stories of how it had happened. But I had still desired her then, still wanted to keep her for myself. Now as I thought of her naked body on the few occasions we had made love, it seemed as flat and unstimulating as the old picture of Jane Eyre that had once excited me. With the same confusion I looked back on Zahra's mutilated face and wondered why I had found her attractive.

When I awoke the next morning, however, the silence of the house was not so comfortable. I noticed that the bathroom door was open. I went inside and shut it. The bathroom was quiet, too, except for the buzzing noises of a fly. It was quite an ordinary room, small, sparse. I wondered why Zahra had spent so much time in here. The window had been left open, that was how the fly had gotten in. It was throwing itself at the glass now, trying to escape, unable to find the crack through which it had come. I went to the window to open in wider and attempt to shoo it out, but it flew away from me and landed on the mirror and stayed there. So I left it there and left the bathroom.

Suddenly it occurred to me that I might not be rid of Zahra for good after all. She had changed her mind before. What was to stop her from changing it again? What was to prevent her from returning next year with a child, claiming it was mine, demanding that I pay for it? Who could know what that mad woman would do? And if she were to return in a year, in two years or three, who could say that I would not lapse back into whatever insanity of my own had first made me want to marry her?

That day I returned to the brothel where I had only been two or three times before. I had not visited a prostitute since my marriage, not once, at first because I did not think I would need to, and then out of some misplaced hope or loyalty. I don't know. But I was not married now, so what was to stop me? The girls there wore too much makeup and smelled of cheap perfume and cigar smoke. But they were great beauties compared to the cold and disfigured wife I had sent away. They were warm and willing and would talk to me if I wanted them to, but usually I did not. I became a regular customer at that brothel. There was one of the girls who wore a gold piercing in her nose who I came to prefer over all the others, though I never learned her name. I never knew any of their names. The girl with the piercing was the only one that I would sometimes talk to afterwards. I told her that I was divorced, that my wife had left me because she was crazy. She was not scandalized by anything and offered no condolences, as if this were the most common occurrence.

One evening I returned home from the brothel to find that the electricity had gone out while I was away and the food in the refrigerator had spoiled. I brought it out to the trash and came back inside, swatting away the few flies that tried to follow me. I thought of the money belts hidden behind the refrigerator, that secret reserve of wealth which I still believed would be my ticket to a better life, a real life. Absently I scratched at a sore spot that had begun to form on my face. I thought of how much money had passed from my hands in the last few months to the girl with the piercing and the others at the brothel. As much as I enjoyed their company, it seemed foolish to pay so much for it, when none of them was mine to keep. That was when I decided that I should look to marry again.

I made my desire to find a new wife known to Tallal, and he introduced me to a friend of his girlfriend. She was Lebanese, but her family had been in Africa since she was young. Her parents were dead and a younger brother was her only remaining relative, who let her do as she pleased. Her name was Nour. She had flawless skin and sharp eyes that quickly appraised everything they saw. She had never been married, but I suspected she had been with a man before. I asked her about it bluntly during our courtship, so that I would not be fooled the same way twice. She laughed and admitted it. I asked why she had not married this man. "He was nobody," she said. "He had no money and came from no family. I didn't love him. He was handsome, though."

"What was his name?" I asked

"What was the name of your first wife?" This was her response. I opened my mouth to reply, but found I could not think of her name. I could see her face disfigured by scabs and scars; I could hear her voice begging me to divorce her. I knew that she was Hashem's niece. But I could not think of her name. Nour laughed at me again.

"You see how fondly you remember her? It is the same for me. That man no longer exists for me, just as your wife no longer exists for you. I am done with him, just as you are done with her."

Her brother gave his permission readily, though I believe Nour would have married me without it. On our wedding night, she removed her own clothes instead of waiting for me to do it. There were no surprises this time. She was not an ideal wife, but she never embarrassed me in public or withheld her body from me. I thought that was a good enough start, that she could learn the rest, and that one day we could have our perfectly respectable family and live a life of comfort and no one would be able to say a word against us. When we had been married for almost two years, she gave birth to a daughter, whom I let her name.

On the child's third birthday, I came home early as a surprise to find my wife in the arms of her lover. Furious, I could have killed her then, but the other man prevented me from laying a hand on her and the two of them fled the house. The little girl saw everything, but never made a sound.

The next day I awoke feeling remorseful. Nour had been given too much freedom as a young woman and had never learned modesty or good morals. Mistakes were to be expected. I decided that when she came back I would welcome her with forgiveness. I dressed and went to work as usual, leaving my daughter with a neighbor. When I came home again that evening, Nour was not there, but her jewelry and most of her clothing was gone. The money belts were missing from behind the refrigerator as well. The house was quiet, except for the buzzing of a few flies that had gotten in somehow. It was obvious what had happened. The child was the only thing she had not taken.

Our daughter had been born late in the summertime. I was only slightly disappointed not to have a son, for it seemed likely we would have more children. I was more alarmed to see how ugly the infant looked, though the doctor assured me this was normal, and indeed she would eventually grow into a pretty child. As there were no women in my family whom I wished to honor, I told my wife to pick any name she wanted. She named the child Zahra.


End file.
